


a flicker of a strange life

by weatheredlaw



Category: BioShock Infinite, Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Smoking, Underage Sex, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:31:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Miss Darmody--"</p><p>"It's Gillian, for the love of <i>God</i>, DeWitt."</p><p>He chuckles and pulls her a little closer. "I've just got no manners, do I?"  Gillian smiles.</p><p>"No, sir. Not a single one."</p>
            </blockquote>





	a flicker of a strange life

**Author's Note:**

> this story was born from conversations with my good friend nana (samwinchester on tumblr, for real; @crustywhiteboys on twitter), and our mututal darmody/dewitt feelings. it was supposed to be a booker-jimmy friendship piece, but it become something very, very different. please enjoy, it's been a long time since i've watched boardwalk.

"What is it you _do_ , exactly, Mr. DeWitt?"

"I'm a private investigator." 

Gillian sighs, tired with the stonewalling and the mystery. He isn't a hard man to figure out, not completely. "But what do you _do_?"

Booker glances over at her, taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it, passing it along. "Whatever job needs to be done." 

She at the ground between them. Gillian knows men like this, she left her son in the care of Nucky Thompson, she's well aware of how these kind of men work. Except that Booker DeWitt isn't like Nucky. He isn't like any of the men she knows. Maybe that's because he's still good, because he hasn't been poisoned by politics. Like she has. Like they all have. "You said you have a daughter?"

At this, DeWitt's face changes, just a bit, just enough to be noticeable. "I do. She's eight. We have a maid who lives with us, she takes care of her when I can't be home. Which kinda makes me need to ask, Miss Darmody. What can I do for you? You didn't come all the way to New York just to share a cigarette."

"No, I didn't." She sits up straight. DeWitt chose this place to meet, a cafe that's open late in the city, but doesn't attract too much attention. She suspects he's quite good at that. "A friend of mine, a Nucky Thompson, he's interested in acquiring your services. He understands you have connections with the Pinkerton Detective Agency, and he'd like to know if you would be interested in allowing your contacts to meet with him."

"For what purpose?"

"Mr. Thompson's political career is progressing nicely."

"Not much interested in politics."

Gillian smiles. "No, I didn't think so. But you must understand, Mr. Thompson is willing to pay you rather handsomely if you'd agree to--"

Booker laughs. "To what? Arrange a meeting with men who don't trust me? Between them and a man who probably can't be trusted either? You'll have to forgive me, _Miss Darmody_ , if I don't quite see how much good could come of it. I don't work for the Pinkertons anymore. I was let go. Whatever you heard about me, you heard wrong." 

Gillian looks into her glass of wine. "I heard you were war hero. I heard you were a gambler and a drinker and you turned your life around."

"Somethin' like that."

"I suppose I understand why." She leans back. "Well, it can't hurt to try. There are other Pinkerton contacts we can speak with."

"Might be easier to bribe, too," he mutters, stamping out his cigarette. "Why don't I get you back to your hotel? City'll eat you alive."

"I doubt it," she says. "I'm from New Jersey."

 

 

 

Nucky will be disappointed, but undeterred. Getting the Pinkertons on his side matters, and running into men more decent than he isn't going to stop him. Booker DeWitt isn't a _great_ man, by any standard, but he's certainly a good one, at the very least. He walks silently next to her, keeping his distance enough to be respectful. It's a pleasant change. 

"What's your daughter's name?" she asks quietly. 

"Anna. She's a good girl. Too smart for her own good."

"And your wife?"

Booker hesitates. "She...she died. During childbirth."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's alright. We've managed." They stop at a crosswalk. "Do you plan on having any children of your own, Miss--"

"It's Gillian, Mr. DeWitt."

"Sorry. Any kids in your future? I'm not walkin' a married woman home, am I?"

She laughs. "No, sir, you're not. But I already have a son. He'll be four this year." Booker makes a noise next to her, but doesn't say anything more about it. Gillian suspects he isn't the type to judge. "Maybe one day your Anna will meet my Jimmy."

"Maybe," Booker says. He stops in front of her hotel. "This is you."

"I suppose so, yes." She reaches out and takes his hand in hers. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. DeWitt. There aren't any men like you in Atlantic City."

"Probably for the best," he murmurs, looking between them. "Miss Darmody--"

"It's Gillian, for the love of _God_ , DeWitt."

He chuckles and pulls her a little closer. "I've just got no manners, do I?" Gillian smiles.

"No, sir. Not a single one."

 

 

 

She likes that he doesn't wonder how old she is, because she suspects he already knows. A man like Booker DeWitt doesn't just meet with young girls from Jersey without doing the research. He kisses her anyway, and she doesn't complain. Men have done more after knowing less of her. There's a roughness about him, the way his hands grip her hips a bit too tight, or his fingers press too hard along her thighs. 

"You deserve better," he murmurs into her mouth while he fucks her. "You deserve a good life."

"Do I deserve you?"

Booker laughs, tipping her neck back as he rolls his hips, pressing his lips to the column of her throat. "I said _better_ , Miss Darmody." 

"You won't let that go, will you?"

"I like the way it sounds." He rolls over onto his back, pulling him on top of her, hand spread out on her stomach, thumb trailing toward her clit. He doesn't speak while she rides him, her back arching to give him more of a view. It's impossible not to treat him the way she treats anyone else, even though he is certainly not like a single client she's ever had. Not like any of the men she's tried to find to take care of herself and Jimmy. She suspects Booker DeWitt might be good at it, if he wasn't struggling to do the same thing himself.

It's probably why she's doing this. Because, for once in her life, she's found someone who understands.

She's all too aware that they won't be the same for long. That her world and his world are moments away from taking two different turns, and she will be a different woman if she ever sees him again.

But still, for tonight, it's an indulgence to pretend otherwise.

 

 

 

He leaves her his address when he takes her to the train station in the morning, his daughter in tow. "I thought you'd like to meet her."

"Papa, is this a friend?"

He nods, lifting her into his arms. "It is. This is Miss Darmody."

"Gillian," she corrects without thinking. "I heard so much about you, Anna. What are you reading right now?"

"A book about trains," the girl says, looking around. "I know all the parts, now, and how the steam engine works."

"How clever," Gillian murmurs, smiling. "Thank you for a wonderful evening, Mr. DeWitt. Do let us know if you change your mind." 

Booker nods, setting Anna down to take Gillian's hand in his. "If you need something...if you need _anything_. Let me know. You know what I do, you just tell me where to be and I'll be there."

"I'll keep that in mind, Mr. DeWitt." She kisses his cheek before getting on the train, watching him out the window.

She'll never call him, not for the things she'll need done. Booker DeWitt's hands are bloody enough. She has no interest in dragging him along with her, not when the image of his daughter is seared into the backs of her eyes, and Anna's dark curls tied up in a tidy blue ribbon are all she can see on her way home.

 

 

 

She says she'll never call him. She says it's not her way. 

But she said she'd never let her son join the Army, and now here he is, disappearing with the train while she stands alone, mistaken for his girl all over again. 

She won't know where he is. For the first time in her life, she won't know where Jimmy _is_ , and it scares her like nothing else ever has. 

In her memories, lost between a book about trains and long walks home, is Booker DeWitt's name.

 

 

 

"DeWitt residence."

"Yes, hello, I'd like to speak to Mr. DeWitt, if I may."

"Oh. Just a moment." She hears a rustling noise, a young girl shouting, " _Papa, the phone's for you_ ," as if surprised. "He'll be right here."

Gillian nods, the phone shaking in her hand as she hears a man's voice, a girl's laughter, the sound of a child somewhere in the background. "DeWitt speaking."

"Mr. DeWitt? This...this is Miss Darmody. Gillian Darmody. I don't suppose you--"

"How could a man forget Miss Darmody?" She can hear the smile in his voice. "It's been a while."

She laughs. "Yes. Yes it has. How are you, Booker?"

"Well enough. Can't complain." A pause. Then: "Are you alright?"

"My son joined the army, Booker. He's left me, I don't know where they've sent him, I'm--"

"Gillian." The sound of her name coming from his mouth keeps her quiet. She'd wanted to hear it all night in New York and he wouldn't give it to her. It's a comfort, now, if anything. "It's alright. My son-in-law, he...he's just left himself. Anna and her daughters moved into the house. I understand." 

_God, I wish you did._ "I suppose they told an old man like you to stay home."

"War's a young man's game, I never could make a career out of it." She hears him settle into a chair, shift the phone to the other ear. "You didn't call to chat, did you, Miss Darmody?"

"No," she says. "No, I didn't. I wanted to know if...if your military connections were any better than your old Pinkerton ties."

"They might be. Why?"

"I want to know where my son is going. I just...I need to know. I need to be able to look at a map and know here's somewhere in this world, Booker. Please, if you can help me, you don't know what kind of debt I would owe you."

"Hell, woman, there's no debt to be repaid between you and me." He sighs, quiet for the longest time. "I'll find out where he is. Give me your number, I'll call you within the week." 

 

 

 

It's only a few days between calls, but it feels like Gillian waits years. She's losing sleep, tossing back and forth in bed, wondering where Jimmy's gone, if she could have stopped him, if she _should_ have stopped him at all. 

When Booker calls, she's a mess, shaking as she takes the phone from the maid. "Yes?"

"Your boy's in Chicago, just for a bit. Friend of mine told me they were going to France after, but that information wasn't strictly legal in the first place, so that's all I got for you." 

"God, _Booker_ \--"

"Don't say anything. I found out where my son-in-law is, got my daughter to calm down for a bit. I get it. It was a relief for me, too. Just glad I could help." 

"Thank you, Booker, I owe you--"

"Not a damn thing. You just keep yourself safe over there, alright? Keep yourself good and busy. Trust me, your boy'll be back in no time."

Gillian smiles. "I hope so. I'm sorry to hear about your daughter's husband."

"Got too big a sense of duty, that one, but he's a fighter. Just...do me a favor?" 

"Anything," she says, leaning forward with the phone gripped tight in her hands

"Keep in touch this time around, Gillian. Don't do this alone."

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from "love is like" by the handsome family. listen to them, they're great!


End file.
